


Things That Are Invisible

by kuro



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro/pseuds/kuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Skyhold's library is haunted, Cullen is very troubled, and Dorian never joined the Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Haunted Library

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly speaking, this is a trial run, and I'd be SO HAPPY about any feedback. You can also find me on [tumblr](http://kurowrites.tumblr.com).

It hadn’t been long after the Inquisition’s arrival at Skyhold that the rumour that the library was haunted began to spread. At first, Cullen had assumed that it was the trauma of the events at Haven making people see things that weren't actually there (and didn't he know about seeing things that weren’t actually there), but the rumours about the library stubbornly persisted even after they had settled in more or less comfortably.

The most obvious answer would have been that strange young man – what was his name again – Cole? The one who had the disconcerting ability to make people forget him. But Adaar had taken Cole to the side and questioned him about the library, and all she'd gotten out of him was a rather mysterious “I cannot help,” and the eventual conclusion that whatever was going on in the library, it wasn't Cole's doing.

That was in a way confirmed when Adaar took Cole with her on her next mission to the Emerald Graves, and a few books fell out of one of the many shelves in the library while Cole was gone. All the librarians and mages studying in the library swore up and down that no one had touched the books, and that they had been carefully shelved and shouldn't have been able to fall.

After staring at the shelves in question for a while and not finding any possible solution for the problem, the advisors had turned to Solas for help. (The fact that Solas also resided in the library had probably facilitated this decision.) Unfortunately, a short discussion made it clear that Solas wasn't much help, either. He assured Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine that the Veil wasn't particularly thin anywhere in Skyhold, and that there was absolutely no danger of demons or spirits slipping through by accident. But even he wasn't able to explain the strange incidents surrounding the library.

“I will keep an eye on it and will let you know if I notice something,” he promised. “Although I doubt that the cause is anything dangerous.”

During their short acquaintance, Cullen had gotten the impression that they had vastly different definitions of what should be considered dangerous, so the assurance wasn't as comforting as Solas probably hoped it to be. (Sera, for once, completely and vocally agreed with Cullen. Not that she was likely to ever set foot into the library, anyway. But the strange rumours assured that she would definitely not, now.)

Leliana and Josephine, however, eventually decided that this was good enough, and that they should leave the matter in Solas' hands for the time being, at least until they had taken care of more pressing matters. Cullen reluctantly agreed, mostly because he knew that his dissent would be overruled anyway.

Despite that, he had a hard time letting the matter rest. His experience told him that strange occurrences usually led to terrible incidents, and sometimes, when work was wearing him down, he found himself opening the middle door in his office, standing in the door frame and staring at the grey walls of the library.

The library was a rather unusual piece of architecture, especially compared to the rest of Skyhold. The round shape both outside and inside was strange enough, but the oddest part was probably the single window on the middle of the three floors. The window had a good view of most of the courtyard, and a direct view on the tower that contained Cullen's rooms. But why only one single window? He couldn't help but think it odd.

The window seemed to magically draw his eye whenever he looked up at the library, and sometimes, he was almost sure that he saw shadows moving behind it. It was foolish, really, because it was probably nothing more than one of the mages looking for a book, and Cullen was, once again, seeing demons where there were none. It was hard getting rid of the tendency to expect something dark and sinister lurking behind every innocent gesture, but his nightmares were still too vivid and real, even after all these years, not to give him pause now and then.

He was trying to leave these things behind, he really was. And still, he found his eyes glued to the lonely window more often than not, his mind occupied by a vague sense of worry.

 

* * *

It eventually happened one night when he was tormented by a particularly disconcerting kind of nightmare. He awoke in his bed, pulse racing madly, with the smell of rotting flesh in his nose and the taste of blood magic on his tongue. His body shivered both with cold and with terror, while sweat was running down his back. It took him a long time to fully arrive back in reality, and even longer for the shaking to finally stop.

He knew what had caused the nightmares. The day before, he had received another report about Red Templar activities, and he still felt the physical repulsion that had viciously gripped him while reading it, the overwhelming desire to deny what was written there, to defend the Templars. Some of the people mentioned had been acquaintances once, comrades, even friends. He couldn't, didn't want to believe that they really were capable of... these deeds. Cullen himself had not always made the best choices either, but that? That was the work of beasts, not men. As Templars, they had sworn an oath to protect and serve the people, and they had broken it in ways that Cullen wasn't able to comprehend. He had thought Meredith had been the exception. He had never been more dismayed to find out that he had been wrong.

With a frustrated groan, Cullen climbed out of his bed. He wouldn't be able to return back to sleep, the terrible reports and his usual nightmares scrambling his brain until he wasn't sure what he actually remembered happening and what was purely a figment of his imagination. For a moment, he stood in the middle of his bedroom, breathing deeply and letting his eyes adjust to the starlight filtering through the holes in the ceiling. He listened to the sounds of the night, but apart from a few guards who were on their patrols, everything was peacefully quiet.

After a few moments of consideration, Cullen picked a thick, woollen coat out of his chest and threw it over his shoulders before he carefully climbed down the ladder. The night guards were already used to his frequent presence on the battlements, and some of them seemed to genuinely appreciate the Commander checking in with them from time to time.

For a while, Cullen wandered back and forth on the battlements, but despite feeling tired, sleepiness refused to set in. He didn’t want to return to his bed, only to be haunted by his nightmares. Almost involuntarily, his eyes once again found the lone window of the library. It was dark behind the glass now, and the library was deserted in the middle of the night, but Cullen was sure he saw movement behind that window for one moment.

Without giving it a second thought, his steps turned towards the closest door that would lead him to the library.

Opening the door leading to Solas’ floor, he was greeted by darkness and only very little light coming from the skylight at the top of the building. The light was low enough that Cullen had to carefully shuffle towards the stairs leading to the upper floors. On his way over there, however, he banged his leg on some kind of furniture, and through his quiet “Maker’s breath,” he could hear the soft shuffling of feathers coming from the top floor, accompanied by the sleepy croaking of Leliana’s ravens.

Once he had finally climbed the stairs, finding the window was easy. He was greeted by the sight of a quiet alcove, the light shining through the window, illuminating an empty armchair and rows and rows of dusty tomes. Nothing here seemed to point towards anything out of the ordinary.

He turned back around and let his eyes wander along the many bookshelves lining the walls. There was nothing that was out of place, nothing lying around that didn’t belong here, and there was absolutely no movement on this floor. Whatever it had been that Cullen had seen, it must have been either a trick of his mind, or it was long gone now.

Weary and a little embarrassed of himself, Cullen stepped over to the armchair that looked rather inviting (much more than the chair in his own office that was constantly abused as shelf space, anyway) and sat down. It was very comfortable. Maybe he should see if he couldn’t get one of those, himself.

Before he knew it, Cullen had already fallen asleep.

 

* * *

“No!” Cullen screamed. “NO!”

The abomination laughed a terrifying laugh that made Cullen feel as if fingernails scraped against the inside of his skull, and effortlessly lifted the Templar it held choking in its claw high into the air. The Templar gurgled and struggled in desperation for a moment, but then he went limp.

Without thinking, Cullen lunged towards the abomination, to help his friend, to do _anything_ , but he only crashed right into the purple force field he had been caught in. And just as before, the field gave him an electric shock that took his breath away for a moment, before he was thrown back and crashed onto the floor heavily.

He didn’t want to turn back to look at his dead friend, but he did it anyway, as if controlled by a foreign force.

The Templar (the name, what was his _name_ ) lay dead on the floor, and Cullen, sobbing, crawled as close to the force field as he dared.

“No,” he whispered, “no.”

The abomination laughed again, and then… something odd happened. The Templar began to glow, to twist and turn. Slowly, as if pulled by invisible strings, the Templar stood up once more, and there, right in front of Cullen’s eyes, red lyrium started to sprout out of his skin, consuming him until he was turned into a Behemoth.

Cullen shook in terror.  

This was not right. No. This was not right. _There had been no red lyrium in Kinloch Hold._

Another nightmare.

“Wake up,” Cullen told himself, squeezing his eyes closed. “Wake up. NOW.”

“And I thought _my_ dreams were unpleasant,” came a voice behind Cullen.

Cullen whipped around. While he moved, the illusion of Kinloch Hold around him crumbled, and he found himself in a bare, empty room, facing a new intruder.

Another dream?

“Get away from me, demon!” he shouted, grasping for his sword. In vain, because it wasn’t there. He had no weapon to defend himself other than his own two hands. “I won’t fall prey to your whims!”

The demon tut-tutted. “First of all, I am not a demon. Much too pretty to be one, if you ask me. Have you even _looked_ at me? This face deserves better than that, honestly.”

The strange, unexpected talk gave Cullen pause, and he actually looked at the demon. And now that he was looking, he noticed that said demon _did_ look remarkably human, although the dark hair and skin, as well as the frankly ridiculous mustache and clothing, definitely didn’t fit into Ferelden. And the bright, almost silvery eyes had an intense, cutting quality that did nothing to put Cullen at ease.

“What are you?” Cullen growled. “And what are you- what are you doing in my _dream_?”

“Honestly?” the demon asked breezily. “I’m not exactly sure. I didn’t even know I could do that. One moment I’m wandering around, the next - ta-dah! - I’m here. And since I have no idea how long this is going to stay that way, let me get this over quickly: The thing haunting Skyhold’s library? That’s me. I guess I should apologise for the whole haunting thing, but… I need your help. You see, I’m in a bit of a predicament. I am the unfortunate and very much involuntary victim of a botched blood magic ritual, caught somewhere between the real world and the Fade, and I would appreciate it so much if I got my former body back. I’m very fond of it, you see. There’s something about physicality that even the ability to walk through walls can’t replace. And it’s terrible when people look right through you, I mean _really_ , I deserve better than that. I deserve admiration and veneration and many, many paintings of my beautiful face. And that’s why I’m asking you, honoured Commander of the Inquisition, to help me. Please.”

Cullen snorted. “You can’t fool me, demon. I won’t fall for your tricks.”

The demon made an annoyed noise. “I am _not_ a demon. My name is Dorian Pavus, and I am from Tevinter, and yes, for you I might just as well be a demon, I know. But I beg you to help me. You are the only person that has seen or heard me ever since this happened. You are the only person who might be able to help me. Please help me. _Please_.”

With a start, Cullen realised that there were actual tears in the demon’s eyes. Could demons cry? He didn’t know. He didn’t actually care. It was a very elaborate ruse, but he was sure that it was simply that: a ruse.

Cullen chuckled without humour. “Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work,” he said coldly.

The demon’s eyes widened. “No, please-” he called out.

 

Cullen woke with a gasp, still sitting in the large overstuffed armchair, surrounded by the quiet darkness of Skyhold’s library.


	2. A Shadow In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and last time that you'll be getting an update this quick. Enjoy it (and maybe give me a bit of attention).

Getting thrown out of someone else’s dream was disorienting, to say the least. When the sense of vertigo had finally settled, Dorian couldn’t do much but watch the Commander stare into the darkness of the library with wide eyes, his hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair he was sitting in. He couldn’t keep the Commander from suddenly getting up and leaving the library with quick strides, the lock falling back into place with finality. One short moment, Dorian felt tempted to follow him, to find some way to _make_ the Commander listen to him.

But he couldn’t.

He had been just as unprepared as his victim. The Commander, _Ser Cullen Rutherford_ , if Dorian had heard correctly, had caught Dorian’s interest when he had suddenly entered the library in the middle of the night. He’d seen the man around before, mostly observing him from afar when he was training with the soldiers or wandering the battlements at night. He had heard the rumours circulating among the mages, about his past as a Templar, and he’d decided he probably didn’t want to stray too close to the man. Not that Dorian thought he was necessarily a bad man. It was just that Ser Rutherford had a way of making Dorian feel vulnerable when he was close, even though that thought was utterly ridiculous. Not even magic could hurt Dorian right now.

But Dorian had been bored and restless as usual, wandering around the library and trying to move some of the books (it had worked a few times already, although Dorian wasn’t exactly sure why and how). So when Ser Rutherford had entered the library at such an unusual time, Dorian had followed him to the alcove with the little window that looked down into the courtyard. He had simply been curious; no one ever entered the library at night.

When Ser Rutherford had promptly fallen asleep in the large armchair, Dorian had moved a little closer, peering into the Commander’s face. It wasn’t just Ser Rutherford; Dorian tended to stay away from most of Skyhold’s residents because being close to people who couldn’t see you got awkward (and creepy) rather quickly. There were some things even someone as curious as Dorian didn’t need to know. But the sleeping Commander…

“He _is_ rather handsome, isn’t he,” Dorian had said to no one in particular. “What a shame he constantly looks overworked and sleepdeprived.”

And then, the next moment, he hadn’t been staring at Ser Rutherford’s sleeping face anymore, but found himself in the middle of a nightmare full of abominations.

After such a long time of wandering in between worlds, neither really here nor there, he realised pretty quickly that this wasn’t reality, but that he’d been caught in a dream. The way things went out of focus where they shouldn’t usually was a dead giveaway, but the fact that Ser Rutherford was also in that dream, screaming at the abominations, probably helped too.

And then, because Dorian’s brain-to-mouth filter was completely gone (he might have started talking to himself a lot just to have _someone_ to talk to), he had made a rather blithe and tasteless comment.

And, to Dorian’s utter shock, Ser Rutherford had actually heard him.

Dorian was still unable to comprehend what exactly had happened, and he had been so out of it he couldn’t even remember what he had told Ser Rutherford. He only remembered that the bastard had called him a demon several times, and then had essentially done the dream equivalent of throwing Dorian out on his ear.

Dorian had tried to make contact with so many people since this whole thing had happened, and the first person that he actually managed to speak to was a paranoid Ex-Templar that wouldn’t even listen to him?

Before he knew what he was doing, Dorian found himself screaming. He hated this. He hated being caged in this prison, feeling neither alive nor dead. He hated his father, his homeland, for allowing this to happen. But most of all, he hated that man with no mercy in his eyes, the man who had left him here in the dark, more lonely than before.

He didn’t even notice the books flying off their shelves.

* * *

By the time Cullen had finished the morning training with his soldiers, the entire hold was abuzz with gossip. Usually, Cullen tried to avoid useless chatter - there were more important things to do. This morning, however, his defenses were already low anyway, so he raised a questioning eyebrow at Cassandra when they passed another gaggle of people squawking excitedly among themselves.

“There was an… incident at the library,” Cassandra explained, distaste plain on her face.

The mention of the library made Cullen take notice. He had, after all, been at the library tonight, and apart from his own nightmares, nothing had seemed to be out of the ordinary.

“Nothing happened,” Cassandra assured him, probably noticing his worried look. “Simply another case of books flying off their shelves. Only this time, it was more than three or four books. Whole shelves have been overturned. It was probably a prank - a tasteless one, but a prank nevertheless. No one has actually seen it happen. It was that way when Helisma entered the library this morning.”

Cullen didn’t feel very reassured by Cassandra’s words. He still remembered the grey eyes looking at him with uncanny intensity in his dream. The demon who had said he haunted the library.

“It couldn’t be something… more?” he asked out loud.

Cassandra gave him a considering look. “I do not think so. Solas has already looked everything over and has assured us that there are no signs of something unusual, demon or otherwise. The cause remains a mystery, at least as long as we do not find the culprit.”

Cullen nodded along, distracted by his hazy memories of last night. The library had been fine when he’d left it, and that dream… had it been a demon? An incident in the library right after Cullen had a strange dream in exactly the same place - this felt too connected to be coincidental.  

“Say, Cassandra,” Cullen asked, suddenly remembering something. “Does the name Dorian Pavus ring a bell?”

This time, Cassandra looked at him with an actively worried expression on her face. “No,” she eventually answered, hesitance plain in her voice. “But the Pavus family is a very old noble line in Tevinter. Magisters, powerful politicians. One of those families where they say that magic runs thicker in their veins than blood.”

She didn’t ask Cullen why he was suddenly asking that.

Cullen didn’t tell her.

* * *

“You infuriating, utter fool of a man!” Dorian shouted, circling around the war table in frustration.

His exclamation, of course, went ignored. The Inquisitor and her advisors were talking back and forth, trying to find a solution for the problem in the library. Ser Rutherford was pressing for a thorough cleansing, courtesy of the Templars under his command, but the other three did not look happy to let Templars intrude a place mostly frequented by mages. And Dorian, of course, was enraged. Especially since the problem that Ser Rutherford hoped to do away with wasn’t in the library at all at the moment. _The Problem_ was standing right next to Ser Rutherford the Foolish Boor, shouting expletives and insults at him, and went utterly and completely ignored. The Problem had absolutely no idea how he had actually managed to turn over all these bookshelves by sheer force of will. He'd spent the whole morning trying, and just... nothing.

“Andraste, save me from these backwater yokels,” Dorian groaned in desperation, feeling the growing urge to pull at his own hair in desperation. “Why did I ever think coming here was a good idea. I should have stayed in Tevinter. Maybe someone would have accidentally summoned me back through a blood magic ritual.”

The argument between the other four people in the room went on without Dorian paying much attention to it, and it eventually ended in a deadlock. No two people could agree about the best course of action. Dorian wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or more frustrated.

His eyes fell on Ser Rutherford. No, definitely more frustrated. The man had mentioned Dorian or his nightly visit to the library with absolutely no word. At least he could do Dorian the favour of telling someone else about him, piquing their curiosity, and maybe even starting an investigation. _Anything_. But there was nothing but stubborn silence on Ser Rutherford’s part, and Dorian could hit him for it. Several times, for good measure.

When they finally left the War Room, Dorian wandered after them, half listening to the chatter between the Inquisitor and the Lady Montilyet, going on about some visiting Orlesian noble that was apparently causing no small amount of trouble and was a bit of a magpie. The Inquisitor had to basically strong-arm the noble into handing back a few select and very precious items to their rightful owners. Not really the way to build good diplomatic connections, but apparently Lady Montilyet had managed to smooth the ruffled feathers on both sides successfully. A truly marvellous woman, that one, Dorian thought.

“Are you all right?” he could suddenly hear Leliana ask in a quiet voice. Dorian turned his head, and saw Leliana look at Ser Rutherford, who carefully avoided looking at her. (And Dorian found himself once again wondering about Leliana’s family name. Did she have one? He had never even heard it.)

“I’m fine,” Ser Rutherford answered, his voice sounding a little gruff. “Just a headache.”

“You should take care of yourself better, Commander,” Leliana told him with a certain undertone that Dorian wasn’t able to read. “Contrary to what I’ve said before, you are more than a pretty face. The Inquisition needs you.”

“The Inquisition needs a commander,” Ser Rutherford replied with a stubborn set to his jaw. “That doesn’t necessarily have to be me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Leliana replied, one corner of her mouth twitching up a little. “Go get some rest.”

“I do not-” Ser Rutherford started, but Leliana already walked towards the rookery, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

* * *

Cullen sighed. He had no idea why people like Cassandra or Leliana kept insisting that he wasn’t just _a_ commander of the Inquisition, but _the_ Commander of the Inquisition. It made him uncomfortable, to say the least. He didn’t like feeling irreplaceable, and he didn’t want to be. He simply wanted to perform his duties while he was able to, and someone to take over once…

Once what?

He wasn’t sure.

Cullen returned to his office with every intention to work, but once he was actually face to face with the heaps of unread reports, his headache seemed to become that more insistent. Maybe Leliana was right; maybe he should take a break. He hadn’t really slept last night, anyway. After what had happened in the library, he had come back to his office and worked on reports until the sun had finally risen, too tightly wound to sleep any more.

_My name is Dorian Pavus, and I am from Tevinter, yes, and for you, I might just as well be a demon._

Cullen was stopped in his tracks. The words had been bouncing in his head all day long, and they bothered him more than they should. Of course, the demon had tried to rile him up. But it had also inevitably hit a nerve. It was odd that a demon would pick the appearance of a Tevinter mage, of all things, but that didn’t change the accurateness of its assumption. His whole life, Cullen had been taught that nothing good came out of Tevinter, especially not when it came in the shape of a mage.

But hadn’t he sworn to leave that part of his life behind? How little he had succeeded.

Cullen shook his head. “It was just a demon, anyway,” he murmured to himself, wearily beginning to take off his armour. It was foolish to dwell on it. It had been a dream, a nightmare, and it was over now. Once again, he was seeing dark shadows where there were none. The incident in the library probably had been a prank, too.

* * *

Dorian sat on Ser Rutherford’s desk and watched him slowly strip out of his armour.

“I really wished you would stop referring to me as a demon,” Dorian said to the room. “And I really wished I could punch you right now.”

Ser Rutherford, in all his undergarments and glorious ignorance, quietly made his way over to the ladder in the corner of the room. Dorian stayed where he was, listening to the sounds from upstairs, the heavy steps on the wooden floor, the rustling of cloth, the sounds of the bed as it accommodated its owner. Then, finally, a sigh of relief.

“Most of all, though,” Dorian said, closing his eyes, “most of all, I wish you had listened to me.”


End file.
